The Library
by iwritetokeepthevoicesquiet
Summary: Altaïr has been the Grandmaster for a few months following the siege of Masyaf. During the events of the games he wasn't given much time to grieve; Malik is a shoulder to lean on. "You must accept your humanity, Altaïr." Malik reached forward, lifting Altaïr's chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. "You have lost much and must allow yourself to grieve."


Song Inspiration _Baltimore's Fireflies_ by Woodkid

Art Inspiration _It can wait_ _..._ by N23 on DeviantArt

 ***** _Ma hi alllaena… = What the f-bomb…_ *

Do you like how I just wrote f-bomb so I didn't have to give the entire story an M rating?

* * *

 **The Library**

Altaïr sat in the library, his back to the large window overlooking the courtyard, his heavy dark robes draped around his shoulders as he read. Numerous scrolls were spread out on the desk before him and his fingers were stained with black ink from the aged paper. Since taking Al Mualim's place as Mentor Altaïr had seldom left the library. Instead he dedicated his time to reading and studying the tomes that Al Mualim had gathered, intent on learning everything he could about the Apple of Eden before he used it again. He reclined in his chair and stretched his back languidly, dragging a hand wearily down his face. The time that passed since the siege of Masyaf and Al Mualim's upheaval had been tiresome and slow. Altaïr had always been a man of action, not content to sit and wait. The process was slow going and he had developed a persistent headache behind his eyes. Groaning he stood and stripped the dark mentor robes from his shoulders, next pulling his shirt over his head before he threw both garments to the floor in a heap. He decided that exercise would help to clear his mind so he stretched and contorted himself until a thin sheen of sweat covered his taut muscles. He then began to spar with the air, determined to not let his footwork get sloppy with disuse. He slowed when he heard soft footsteps approaching.

"Mentor, I was sent to inform you that Dai Malik has arrived from Jerusalem. He says he would like to see you." A young Novice in grey robes crossed his left arm over his chest in a show of respect. Altaïr nodded and wiped the perspiration from his brow.

"Show him in."

The Novice bowed and turned away as Altaïr pulled his shirt back on, though it stuck to his flushed and sweaty skin. He began to wipe the sweat off his face with a clean rag and breathed deeply to slow his pulse. When he turned around again Malik was standing at the top of the stairs, his approach silent, his posture rigid.

"Safety and peace, brother."

"Safety and peace, Mentor." Echoed Malik as he stepped into the library, glancing around at the blatant disarray. "I see as well as smell that you have not left the Library for a while. Are Al Mualim's dusty tomes so engaging?"

Altaïr pointedly ignored Malik's comment, pulling his dark robes on over his shoulders. "Your large nose is sensitive and in my personal business as always, Dai." He beckoned Malik to join him at his desk. "You know better than anyone that studying has never been my strongest point; I have years of neglected reading to redeem myself for."

Malik lifted a crumpled note to his eyes, Altaïr's scrawl as unreadable as he had remembered. "Clearly."

Altaïr briskly snatched the note from Malik's thin fingers, motioning once again at the chair beside his own. "Come and sit. Though I was not expecting you, I am glad you came. I hope you can help me understand the context surrounding some of these tomes." Altaïr grabbed a thick leather bound book from the shelving and handed it to Malik before sitting down and pulling a scroll closer to himself, quill raised to make notes. He was surprised when Malik pulled the scroll away. "Though I relish the thought of educating you on your ignorance, it is clear, Mentor, that I must also help you understand the importance of a bath and rest. Come, join me in a night of respite."

Altaïr's scarred lip turned down at the edges, a small but noticeable change in his demeanor. Malik busied himself with cleaning up, placing a cap on Altaïr's ink pot and decisively pulling the feather quill from the younger assassins calloused fingers. Altaïr watched as Malik set them neatly in the shelves and turned to look at him. They regarded each other for a moment, Altaïr's breathing the only sign of his frustration.

"I have no desire to play games, Malik."

Malik arched a dark eyebrow at Altaïr. "Then it is fortunate that I have not come to play." He turned and began to walk away, but Altaïr knew that Malik expected him to follow. Altaïr slowly followed Malik's dark form out of the library and across the parapets to Altaïr's quarters. He followed a few feet behind, watching how Malik's dark rafiq robes swayed with each of his silent steps. Malik waited at the door to Altaïr's room, having the decency to not invite himself inside but not leaving Altaïr any other option. As the door swung open Altaïr could see Malik's eyes taking in the piles of discarded robes and equipment; Altaïr could hear the hiss before it could even escape Malik's throat.

" _Ma hi alllaena_ …" Sighed Malik, turning to glare at Altaïr from the corner of his eyes. When Altaïr made it clear he was not going to answer Malik tsked like a disappointed mother. "How you live in this pigsty is something I fail to understand. Take a bath, Novice. I will return with something to eat."

Altaïr bristled at the use of Malik's condescending nickname, but Malik had sidestepped around him and disappeared into the shadows of the fortress walls at night. Altaïr resigned himself to appeasing Malik as he stripped bare and filled a tub with water. He found a cloth that appeared to be clean and began to wipe himself down, the cold water cooling and refreshing. He felt a rush of clarity cut through the slog of his bogged down thoughts, his irritability lessening with each wipe of the soft rag. Finally, he was finished and disposed of the dirty water; his bare feet making wet footprints on his floor as he searched for a clean tunic and trousers. When Malik returned with a tray of flatbread and goat cheese he found Altair sitting on the end of his bed toweling off his wet hair.

"So the Grandmaster is not above reason." Malik observed and smirked at the way Altaïr paused his movements just to glare at him.

"I suppose it was too much to hope your viper tongue had been tamed since last I saw you."

Malik set the tray down on the floor, beckoning Altair over, a smug look on his face. "Surely you know that if the great Altaïr could not tame this tongue, then no other man shall." Malik quickly caught the cushion that was thrown at his face, a genuine laugh erupting from his belly. Altaïr couldn't help but smile as well at the sight of Malik's brilliant white teeth arranged in such a fierce smile, but he ducked his head to hide the smirk from the Dai. Altaïr grabbed a few more cushions and tossed them on the floor for himself and Malik to recline on. After their earlier banter they ate in comfortable silence, both of them content to focus on quelling their appetite.

"So what brings you to Masyaf, old friend?" Altaïr asked as he brought a glass of water to his lips, amber eyes tracing over the relaxed posture of his second, right arm snugly tucked between his head and a cushion, legs stretched out like a cat.

"I heard from a newly arrived informant that you had not left the library in a while. I came to see if that was true." Malik eyes slowly lifted from the floor to Altaïr's, concern hiding behind the dark irises. "I see now he had not exaggerated his tale."

Altaïr scoffed, hand reaching for another piece of flatbread. "To think you traveled all this way for the chance to scold me." Altaïr absentmindedly chewed at the bread as he stared at his floor and avoided Malik's prying eyes. Slowly his thoughts began to return to their dark corners, a feeling of melancholy settling into his bones again, sending tendrils of cold inching down his limbs. He didn't notice that Malik took this opportunity to study his form, Malik's dark brows knotting together at what he saw. Altaïr grunted as he was suddenly shoved back against the wall behind him, thin fingers gripping the sensitive flesh just below his jawbone.

"Your reflexes have grown slow." Sneered Malik, loosening his grip on Altaïr's throat just slightly so that the assassin's airway was not constricted. Dark brown eyes bore into vibrant amber ones, searching for answers, but Altaïr smacked Malik's hand away and glared up at him, their noses almost touching.

"If you traveled all this way to mock me then it is better you leave."

"Leave?" Malik's mouth fell open for a moment, before his face settled back into its usual sneer. "No, I shall not leave. It is clear to me that you are incapable of caring for yourself." Malik ran his thumb along Altaïr's exposed collarbone, clearly unhappy with the amount of weight Altaïr had lost over the last few months. Altaïr flinched away from the touch, protectively adjusting his garments to cover his throat.

The Dai waited for Altaïr to respond to his jab, but quickly gave up and grew more direct. "You have not been eating. Why?"

Altaïr shoved Malik away from him, but Malik grabbed onto his left wrist and yanked it, causing them to awkwardly tumble away from the wall and land on the floor behind them, Altaïr's other hand shooting out to catch them before Malik fell on his back. Altaïr's nostrils flared as Malik glared at him, gritting his teeth when Altaïr maintained his silence.

"Answer me." Malik commanded, hand tightening around Altaïr's wrist.

"I am not yours to command, _Malik._ " Altaïr spat, their hot breath so close together that it began to make him feel claustrophobic. He pulled again at his trapped wrist, this time shoving Malik back with his right hand simultaneously. Malik released Altaïr to catch himself from collapsing on the ground and Altaïr took the opportunity to leap up and pull his dark robes back on.

"Do you feel proud for taking a cheap shot?" Snarled Malik, clambering to his feet and jabbing a finger in Altaïr's chest.

Altaïr's tried to ignore the finger pressing hard against his chest and fastened his robe. "You left me little choice."

"I was a fool to expect an honest answer from you." Snorted Malik, turning away from Altaïr, his shoulders tense. The slight hurt Altaïr more than offended him, finally an answer forced its way out of his throat.

"I have not been hungry, Malik. I did not realize that a lack of appetite was against the Creed."

"Your sarcasm does you no credit." Bristled Malik, returning to Altaïr's shoulder, breath warm on Altaïr's neck. "I am your second, it it's my duty to concern myself with your well-being."

Altaïr faltered for a moment, then pulled his hood far over his face, retreating from Malik's piercing gaze. "You treat me like a child." Snapped Altaïr, turning to leave.

"Maybe if you did not act like a child I would not have to treat you like one!" Yelled Malik, his composure nearing its breaking point. Altaïr could see from the corner of his eye that Malik's hand was shaking in anger and his face was twisted into a pained expression, yet Altaïr could think of no response. His desire to fight quickly receded and the chill of exhaustion set in. He made no reply and quickly left the room, beating a hasty retreat to the library. But Malik was not giving up that easily.

"Altaïr! Don't you dare turn your back on me!" He stormed after Altaïr's retreating figure, but he and Altaïr had both heard the tremble and crack in his voice. "You have not answered me! Why have you stopped eating? Why have you secluded yourself?"

When Altaïr reached the top of the stairs he turned on Malik, the large window behind him silhouetting his figure.

"Let me be, Malik." It sounded like a plea.

Malik searched for Altaïr's eyes in the shadow of his hood and scowled, tsking as he turned away. "Fine. Keep your secrets. See what I care."

Altair watched Malik's form as he stormed down the stairs and rounded the corner, pausing only to look up and spit a venomous curse at Altaïr before stomping out the door.

* * *

The next morning they had both cooled off from the night before. Malik had arrived as the sun rose bearing fresh tea, setting it down in front of Altaïr as the Grandmaster regarded him suspiciously. No mention was made of the argument the night before, and eventually they had both relaxed enough to talk quietly. By midmorning they were sitting together in the library, looking over some of the more complicated documents, yet Malik had been observing Altaïr's behavior all morning, noting that he seemed to avoid conversation and eye contact even with the Novice's. Altaïr had never been one for idle chatter, but Malik had never seen Altaïr express such vulnerability before by putting forward such an obvious front.

Malik quickly glanced away when Altaïr turned to him, asking him a question related to the reign of a particular monarch. Altaïr watched as Malik began to explain the political atmosphere at that time, his eyes bright and focused, his right hand gesturing emphatically to illustrate his point. Altaïr's gaze lingered on Malik's remaining hand, then he tore his eyes away, looking for anything to divert his attention. His mind began to wander though and he thought back to Solomon's Temple. He remembered the admiration in Kadar's voice and the frustration in Malik's. He remembered the grace Malik had possessed, his acrobatics flawlessly executed, the white robes of a Master billowing around his form as he leapt.

 _Yes…_ thought Altaïr. _As he leapt down from the ledge in an effort to save me from Robert. After what a fool I had been. How I had treated him…_

Altaïr shook his head, trying to focus on what Malik was saying, but he had been fighting the memory of Malik, battered and bloody, for so long, that it finally came swarming back.

" _Gone…" Choked Malik, hate filled eyes turning to Altaïr. "Because of you!" He shouted, his voice full of rage yet trembling, unheeded tears running slowly down his cheek. The accusatory finger jabbed into Altaïr's chest was slapped away._

" _There was nothing I could do!" Choked Altaïr desperate to defend himself; desperate to deny to his aching heart that this was his fault._

" _Because you did not heed my warning! All of this could have been avoided…" Malik's voice cracked at the end of his sentence. "And my brother…" His fist shook as he lunged forward and grabbed hold of Altaïr's collar, leaving bloody handprints on the white robe. "My brother would still be alive!"_

 _The hate in Malik's eyes bore into Altaïr's soul, the trembling fist against his collar a white hot brand burning into his skin._

Altaïr took a shaky breath and realized that the room was silent. He turned to look at Malik, a look of confusion evident on the Dai's face. Malik's hand reached out and his thumb brushed against Altaïr's cheek, brushing away the stray tear.

"Altaïr…"

The tenderness that entered Malik's eyes confused and broke Altaïr's heart simultaneously, but sadness turned to anger and he pushed Malik's hand away. "Do not touch me."

"Altaïr!"

"I do not deserve or want your kindness!" Altaïr pushed himself from the desk and went to the window, gritting his teeth and regulating his breathing. "I have failed those that trusted me, I must pay the penance for my sins."

He heard Malik stand, but the older man took no steps towards Altaïr. "A price you have already paid, brother."

"No… losing my rank and earning it back; that task could not earn me redemption. Al Mualim trusted me, and I failed him. You trusted me and I failed you. Kadar trusted me…"

"I see now."

Altaïr turned to see Malik looking at him with sympathy in his gaze. "What do you see?"

"You are depressed. The weight of all that has happened is crushing you. Now that you have time to reflect on what has passed you feel the pain you have been repressing. You do not rest because it gives you time to think. You do not eat because you are angry with yourself. You did not fight me because you believe you deserve my harsh words."

Altaïr gritted his teeth as Malik moved closer. "Don't act like you know my heart, Dai."

"You must accept your humanity, Altaïr." Malik reached forward, lifting Altaïr's chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. "You have lost much and must allow yourself to grieve."

Altaïr shook his head as his muscles tensed below his robes, fingernails digging into his palms. Malik gripped his chin tighter, face begging for Altaïr to see his sincerity.

"I had time to grieve, Altaïr. While you worked tirelessly on your missions, I came to accept the losses I suffered. You must do the same."

Altaïr saw the wisdom in Malik's words but struggled to accept it. He reached forward, taking Malik's hand gently in his own. "As always Malik, your wisdom humbles me. I do not know if I can do what you ask, but I see now why you came here from Jerusalem. I do not deserve you."

Malik sneered. "Your honeyed complements make my stomach churn. Surely you are not suddenly so fond of me." He pulled his hand free and draped it loosely around Altaïr's shoulder. "You have grown far too sentimental for my liking; it seems I shall have to beat some sense into you."

Altaïr smiled lightly, then lowered his lips to Malik's ear. "Malik…"

"Yes, brat?"

"Have you truly forgiven me for all that I've done?"

"I have already answered that, Altaïr." Malik said firmly, but Altaïr turned to meet his eyes and shook his head.

"But I wish to hear you say it plainly."

Malik laughed, sharp and short. His grip tightened and he pulled Altaïr flush against him in a sideways hug, leaning up to place a fond kiss on the taller man's cheek. "You shall never have the satisfaction of hearing those words from my mouth, Novice."

Malik released Altair and turned, heading down the stairs towards the sparring ring. Altaïr felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, his cheek tingling from the sensation of Malik's gentle kiss.

"Novice!" Yelled Malik from the bottom of the stairs. "Are you coming? I am eager to see how sloppy your form has become!"

Altaïr leaned over the balcony and looked down at Malik. "Perhaps I need remind you that I am your superior, Dai. Novice is hardly the correct way to refer to me."

Malik pulled a face and tsked, walking away and muttering under his breath. Altaïr went after him, and as he emerged from the library into the courtyard the bright sun poured down on him, Malik's form waiting a few yards ahead.

Perhaps time would heal his wounds.


End file.
